Next came choosing their weapons. Erin selected a mallet, Lia a baseball bat.
“I can give you fifteen minutes.” The receptionist ushered them into a room. It was filled with cardboard boxes, glasses, plates and other crockery, as well as old electricals and furniture. “Enjoy.”
When the door was shut behind her, Lia turned to Erin. “So do we just go for it?” She waved her hand toward the items spread out around them.
Instead of answering, Erin brought her mallet crashing down. Chips of broken plate sprayed out around her. Erin hefted the mallet over her shoulder with a flourish and shook her hair out of her eyes.
Why was that so sexy?
“Yes. You just go for it.”
So Lia did exactly that, and, damn, was it satisfying. She thought of her father and Hannah and Carol and all of the things she’d had to leave behind. She thought of the media circus and the endless articles, her own teammates wondering if she had a role in the scandal. Again and again, she brought the baseball bat down until she was surrounded by debris. She breathed heavily, sweat sticking her hair to her forehead.
Erin hung back by the door; she’d barely moved, her mallet balanced against her good leg.
“Sorry.” Lia lifted her face shield. “Kinda took over there.”
Erin shrugged. “It’s okay. You look like you needed it more.”
“You come here a lot?”
“Whenever I need to. After a tough game or a bad training session, or if things get too much here.” Erin pressed her index finger to her temple. “Works better than therapy for me. It was the first place I came after my injury, once I’d cleared it with my surgeon.”
“Thank you. For sharing it with me.” It was a big deal. Their relationship was contentious at best—outright hostile at worst. Moreover, Erin was a private person, and she’d opened her insides for Lia to see. Lia wasn’t entirely sure why, but she was grateful. More grateful than she could possibly say.
“Don’t worry about it,” Erin said. “Just don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
Chapter 9
The fourth game of the season occurred on a rainy October Sunday afternoon.
It was their last one before the first international break, where the players lucky enough to play with their national teams would disperse across the globe, and Erin would be left behind to continue her rehab.
Not that she was bitter or anything.
Albion’s opponents were a team in form, and the first half had been an edgy, timid affair. Beside Erin, Maisie was tense as the minutes ticked by in the second half.
“Come on,” Maisie whispered as Albion mounted their next attack. “You can do this.”
Erin leaned forward in her seat as Lia received the ball at the edge of the box. “Shoot,” she said, though Lia couldn’t hear her. “You’ve had no luck trying to be cute and playing passes into their penalty area, so—”
Lia thumped a shot into the top of the net, sending the crowd wild. Even Erin raised a fist in celebration while Maisie jumped out of her seat so fast, her sweets went flying over the couple in front. They didn’t seem to mind.
“That’s more like it.” Erin relaxed her shoulders, some of the tension leaching out of her. With so few teams—twelve in total—in the league, a single loss or draw was costly when it came to deciding who won the title. But Albion had an excellent defensive record; Erin wasn’t worried about them keeping out goals for the remainder of the game.
A few minutes after the restart, Lia was in the box once again, about to let another shot fly, when she was taken out by the dirtiest tackle Erin had seen in a long time. It was made worse by the slick grass, the opposition defender sliding in with her studs high. Lia’s shout was audible from the stands, her hand immediately clutching her right ankle.
As one, the Albion bench leapt to their feet, furious to see such a reckless challenge. It was the clearest penalty and red card Erin had seen in a long time.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Maisie clutched at Erin’s sleeve, her voice full of anxiety.
On the pitch, Lia lay on the grass, being seen to by the team physios.
Erin didn’t know how to reassure her. “I hope so.”
It didn’t look good. Lia was stretchered off the pitch a few minutes later, her hands over her face.
